


tiresias, by the sea

by acronymed



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/F, I just want them to be okay, archie and juggie show up for five seconds, beronica is end game, but this is all about these ladies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2017-04-27
Packaged: 2018-10-24 11:39:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10740966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acronymed/pseuds/acronymed
Summary: Veronica’s got her share of issues, she knows that, but Betty’s issues have issues okay? She’s got issuessquaredand the worst part is she won’t talk about them, or even acknowledge they exist, and meanwhile Veronica can’t look at a bottle of maple syrup without wanting to puke. Pre-1x06.





	tiresias, by the sea

**Author's Note:**

> i'm three episodes behind right now but i know what happens and every episode it feels like we're getting closer and closer to my core four finally all dating each other. but also someone get archie a therapist stat that boy has got TRAUMA.
> 
> also, veronica and betty continue to be too good for everyone that is all.

After Chuck gets expelled, Veronica spends a long time staring at the selfie they took together on her phone. She’d asked him to send it to her, after their kiss but before the sticky maple edit ( _obviously_ ) and some strange, small part of her doesn’t want to delete it. Some part of her wants the reminder.

 _Reminder of what, though?_ she wonders, as a text alert from Betty covers the photo. _That this town is full of misogynistic douchebags?_

Betty wants to meet at the diner to go over homework, which really just means drink milkshakes and gossip. Betty almost drowned Chuck in a hot tub wearing a black wig and heels like some sort of femme fatale. Betty digs her nails into her hands so hard they bleed. Betty says she doesn’t remember any of it. Betty is a terrible liar.

 _of course!_ she sends back, calculating how long it’ll take her to get ready. Betty won’t care if she shows up in sweats and an old boyfriend’s soccer hoodie, but this town is always watching. _see you in fifteen? :)_

Her phone buzzes on the bed while she’s trying zip herself into a black dress and also put on mascara. If she’s learned nothing else from her mother, it’s how to multitask. Betty’s flurry of heart and kiss emojis flood the screen, something so painfully sweet about it that Veronica smiles.

For someone who, according to Kevin, carefully guards herself from everyone with a pretty smile, neat ponytail and stellar grades, Betty’s been wearing her heart on her sleeve with Veronica from day one. Maybe because she can’t with her mother or Polly, maybe because Kevin may be gay but he’s still a guy. Maybe for some other reason altogether. Veronica refuses to let herself dwell on it for too long - thinking about Betty Cooper was a slippery slope to thinking about other things she isn’t ever going to address.

Smithers tips his hat at her as she comes down the stairs and grabs her keys off the counter. She waves, and then she’s out the door, heels clicking on the wet pavement. There are some things she misses about New York, like the constant bustle, the sound of traffic even at four in the morning, the smell of food trucks on every corner. But sometimes Riverdale catches her off guard, like tonight, when the sky’s so clear she feels like every constellation is open to her and the air is a fresh, post-rain crisp.

The drive is short, Pop’s neon sign giving a warm glow to the almost empty parking lot. It looks like something out of a movie, or a long forgotten photograph. Veronica’s starting to understand Jughead’s obsession with what Riverdale used to be, what it could have been once. She sees it in moments like this - a quiet community where nothing bad ever happens, where everyone knows everyone and milkshakes at the local diner at midnight are the sort of thing you call a date.

“Ronnie!” Betty’s at the door, in a soft looking baby pink sweater. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Veronica’s breath hitches when she sees Betty’s hair is post-shower damp. Even pulled up in her classic ponytail (which _can’t_ be good for breakage, Veronica thinks. She’ll have to tell her about that later), little rivulets of water are running down the side of her neck. Veronica follows the goosebumps they leave behind to the collar of her shirt. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

Betty links their arms together and opens the door, a rush of warm air sweeping through them. “Just got here, don’t worry.”

They sit in their regular booth and order their regular shakes and it all feels so strangely domesticated, going through their usual routine. But there are bags under Betty’s eyes that the fluorescent lighting outside hadn’t picked up, bruising purple, and her lips are chapped. She’d probably showered so she could have an anxiety attack in peace.

Veronica wants to hurt something, wants to ask if she’s okay, but she knows how this goes. Betty won’t spill until she pushes, and sleep deprived and emotionally exhausted is not a good time to push.

Abruptly, with her elbows on the sticky tabletop, she realizes why she’s kept the picture. It’s in Betty, who’s biting her straw, whose good girl face is starting to show the cracks underneath; in Jason, who was the all American dream, who was tortured and murdered. Veronica wants the reminder of Riverdale’s darkness, of the things people in this town are willing to ignore. Of how little everyone actually knows each other.

Of Betty’s skin, flushed pink from the heat, in that bustier. Of the look in her eyes as she said, “apologize for what you did to me, Jason”. Of all the possibilities lurking underneath.

“Hey.” Betty’s voice draws her back. She’s looking at her from across the booth, one eyebrow raised (something, Veronica thinks absently, she must have picked up from her and Jughead), a smear of vanilla shake at the corner of her mouth. “What’s up? You’re being really quiet.”

Veronica doesn’t know what to say. There’s no polite way to tell your best friend that, while you may have issues, her issues have issues. That she has issues _squared_ and that you can’t look at a bottle of maple syrup without wanting to puke and you’re scared for her, for what she’s holding in.

So, she goes, “I’m still kinda messed up from what happened with Chuck,” and immediately regrets it. Betty knows her well enough to know she won’t mean the photo - she’s Veronica Lodge for god sake’s, the day rumours get to her will be the day Hell freezes over - and then she’s going to do the whole _i'm fine_  thing that makes Veronica want to scream and -

“I’m fine, I promise,” Betty says, according to script. She’s staring down at her lap though, so even if Veronica wasn’t in the loop she wouldn’t believe her. “Seriously, V, I’m okay.”

“Betts, you called him Jason.” Veronica slides one hand across the table to curl it around Betty’s wrist. “You called yourself Polly.”

Her thumb sits just above Betty’s pulse point and she can feel it skip every other beat, uneven, off kilter. Afraid.

Betty bites her lip. That sticky vanilla smudge is still there. Then she looks up at Veronica from under her lashes and opens her mouth. Veronica feels like all the air is being sucked out of the room.

And then Pop’s _goddamn_ door chimes clink together and Archie _goddamn_ Andrews goes, “Betty! Ronnie!” behind her and the moment is gone, lost somewhere between Betty smiling at him and Jughead clambering across the seats to sit next to her and the bright blue of Archie’s letterman jacket as he comes into sight.

 _Another time, then_ , she thinks, tapping her nails against the thin skin on the inside of Betty’s wrist. Betty’s eyes flick from Archie to her hand and then to Veronica, the corner of her mouth wavering as if she doesn’t know whether to smile or frown. Veronica gives her a look she hopes says _this conversation isn’t over_ and pulls her hand back.

“Our plans for world domination will have to wait, it seems.” She grins at Archie with all her teeth. “How’s life cohabitating with Neanderthals? I mean, on the football team.”

Archie laughs and starts talking about the upcoming tryouts for team captain. Veronica pretends to pay attention, but spends the evening keeping an eye on Betty’s hands, on her nails, on the mostly healed scabs on her palms.

.  
.  
.

Another time doesn’t come nearly quick enough. There’s the Grundy debacle, which gets creepier and creepier the more details Veronica gets out of Archie. There’s her mum and the Serpents. There’s Cheryl Blossom inviting her to a friggin’ sleepover like they’re besties and Jason’s funeral and Betty’s dad and, suddenly, Betty is calling her at 3am crying because she’s scared to be in her own house.

“What if they killed him?” Betty’s whispering, these tiny little hiccups punctuating every word. “What if Polly’s dead, too, and they’re just lying to me about her?”

 _I wouldn’t put it past your mom_ , is what Veronica thinks, but what she says is, “pack a bag; you’re sleeping over.”

A month ago, Betty’s breathing would have hitched and she would have stuttered out “my mom-” in a small, terrified voice that made Veronica long to do nothing more than whisk her away from her shitty house and this shitty town. Now, though, things are different. They’re different.

“Be here in ten?”

“I’m already on my way,” Veronica laughs, halfway down the stairs. Smithers smiles knowingly at her as she leaves. “I think Smithers is starting to think I’m someone’s booty call.”

Betty’s giggles quietly. “Oops?”

“My virtue is being brought into question here, Betts,” Veronica says indignantly. She wishes she’d thought to at least throw on a sweater because the parkade is _freezing_. “And all you can say is oops?”

She puts her on speakerphone so she can drive, and it makes Betty sound distant, like she’s a thousand miles away. “Double oops?”

Veronica snorts. “Hashtag nice save.”

“I try.”

Betty’s neighborhood looks like it’s right out of The Stepford Wives and, even though Veronica’s been here too many times to count, it still gives her the creeps every time she parks just down the street and waits for Betty to slip out her window. Tonight, she’s already waiting on the curb when Veronica pulls up. They both hang up on each other at the same time.

“Hey, there, Nancy Drew,” Veronica says softly, seeing Betty’s red eyes and jittery hands. “Does the ace detective want snacks?”

Betty cracks a smile, the soft edges of her mouth curling, and reaches across the console to link their pinkies together. Veronica will never tell anyone, but she’s been practicing driving one handed ever since she first met Betty just for moments like this. “This ace detective wants sleep.”

“Fair enough. It is, like, almost four in the morning.”

They drive in silence, with their hands curled together in that sort of easy way Veronica didn’t think was possible until she met Betty. She wants to ask, but it seems like every time they’re alone now Betty’s already a mess that Veronica doesn’t want to make worse.

“Polly and Jason were engaged,” Betty breathes, her forehead pressed against the window. “Our families hate each other.”

“Classic Romeo and Juliet,” Veronica says absently. “Did you talk to your parents?”

Betty nods. “My dad. He said they had a fight and Polly tried to kill herself so they sent her away.”

“Shit,” Veronica says, for a lack of anything better. “Do you believe him?”

There’s a long pause, where Veronica pulls into the parking garage and they slide out of the car silently. She goes to take Betty’s bag, only for Betty to step into her and bury her head in Veronica’s neck.

“ _No_ ,” Betty gasps, and Veronica realizes she’s crying. “What am I going to do?”

“Well, first, you’re gonna get inside.” Veronica steers her towards the elevator. “Then I’m going to make you the best hot chocolate you’ve ever had and we’re going to sort this out, like we always do.”

 _And then I’m going to raze this stupid town to the ground_ , is what she doesn’t say, but wants to.

“Okay,” Betty whispers. She looks so young like this, young and fragile and breaking. “Thanks, Ronnie.”

In the time it takes to get from the parkade to the penthouse, Betty goes through at least four different breathing exercises Veronica remembers learning from her therapist shortly after her dad got arrested. It’s alarming, mostly because Veronica knows Betty’s mom never put her in counselling which means Betty must have had to find and learn them all by herself.

Veronica really, _really_ hates Alice Cooper.

Betty touches her elbow in the foyer, the pad of her thumb on the inside of Veronica’s elbow, while Smithers takes her bag upstairs despite her protests. “You okay?”

Veronica raises an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“You’re staring at your keys like you’re hoping they’ll catch fire.”

 _Pretending they’re your mum_ , Veronica thinks viciously, but manages to smooth out her expression and smile. “Sorry, I was just thinking about something.”

Betty blinks at her, her eyes still watery and red. Sighs. “You don’t have to keep worrying about me.”

“Yes, I do.” The fact that they’re even having this conversation makes Veronica want to scream. She takes Betty’s hand instead. “Come on, I promised you hot chocolate.”

.  
.  
.

Two cups of cocoa and a bowl of popcorn later, Betty’s eyes are beginning to droop as Veronica steers her towards her room. Sleepy, unstressed Betty is a rarity, Veronica knows. An adorable, painfully sweet rarity. She wants to take a picture so badly.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Betty mumbles, as she shuffles over to the bed and plops face first into Veronica’s feather down pillows. “You’re making me blush.”

Veronica snorts. “Like hell I am.”

Betty’s head tips to the side. She smiles slowly, her eyes closed. Veronica’s heart stutters. “Alright, you got me.”

“Go to bed, you loser.”

“Get _in_ bed, you dork.”

Veronica rolls her eyes and flicks the light off, phone in hand to help her navigate the piles of clothes and bags littering the floor. Betty laughs when she throws herself onto the bed with a huff. “Happy, your majesty?”

“Ecstatic.” Betty’s lips touch the bare skin of Veronica’s upper arm briefly. “Thanks for tonight, V.”

Veronica swallows down _anything for you._ Exhales out, “anytime, B.”

Betty rolls away. Veronica stares at the wall, at the dimming brightness of her phone on the nightstand, at anything really. In the morning Betty will still be a mess, she’ll just be in better shape to hide it and they’ll do this song and dance again in a week or so, maybe less. Veronica doesn’t know what to do anymore, or how to help. She doesn’t want to watch Betty come apart but she doesn’t know how far she can push these days. She hasn’t really known since Chuck.

She waits for Betty’s breathing to even out. Once she’s asleep, she can get up and make herself some tea, sit on the couch and think.

Except it never does.

“I’m not okay,” Betty whispers, into the dark. “But whenever I’m with you, I feel like I don’t need to be.”

Veronica looks up into the nothingness, breath caught in her throat. This isn’t where she expected this night to go. Betty’s always been too good at following the script.

Betty’s back is warm against her side, though, so very warm. She wants to curl into her, but they’re treading on such shaky ground she’s scared to even blink.

“What,” she hates the way her voice breaks, “what do you want me to do, B?”

Betty turns over, slowly, so Veronica feels every brush of fabric and skin. Her breath puffs hot air against the slope of Veronica’s bare shoulder. Fingers crawl up the inside of her arm, to the crook of her elbow. Veronica realizes, absently, that they’re both shaking. “I don’t really know.”

Veronica turns to face her carefully. She wishes the lights were on, if only so she could read Betty’s face. Lips brush her chin when Betty moves her head. “You know you don’t have to pretend with me, right?”

Betty exhales, the sound watery, as if she’s about to start crying again. “Yeah.”

“You know -” Veronica pauses. Thinks hard about whether this is right time or not. Swallows her fear and starts again. “You know I’m crazy about you, right?”

“Yeah,” Betty says again, but her hand is steadier now as she drags it back down Veronica’s arm to tangle their fingers together. “I-”

Veronica squints, estimates where her head is roughly, and leans over to press her lips to Betty’s crown. “You don’t have to say it, B. You’ve got way more crap going on in your brain than I do.”

“I’m nuts about you, too” Betty says firmly, squeezing her palm. Veronica wants to kiss her, thread her hands through that perfect ponytail and wreck her. Wants to bring out the girl she knows is just underneath. “Like, a lot.”

“Thank God,” Veronica says, with a grin Betty can’t see. “I wasn’t really sure what I was going to do if you shut me down.”

“I could never.” Betty throws her leg across Veronica’s hips, their hands trapped between her stomach and Veronica’s thigh. “You’re so warm.”

“Oh my god, are you a cuddle monster?” Veronica catches a whiff of strawberry shampoo as Betty tucks herself into her neck and nods. “Could you _be_ any cuter?”

She can feel Betty’s face heat. “Shut up.”

“Fine.” Veronica lets go of her hand so she can slide it under her shoulders and pull Betty firmly into her side. “I’ll let you do all the talking, then. Where should we start?”

“Tomorrow,” Betty mumbles. “I’m tired. It’s late and this night has been very emotional.”

“Alright.” Veronica kisses the top of her head because she can. “I’m holding you to that, though.”

Betty grumbles into her skin. Veronica falls asleep with her leg going numb and the weight of Betty’s arm across her chest, smiling.

.  
.  
.

In the morning, Betty kisses her awake shyly, lips feather light against her own.

“Oh, don’t even,” Veronica huffs, when she tries to pull back. “I know you can do better than that, Cooper.”

Betty laughs, loud and honest. Veronica ends up pressing her into the pillows, mouthing her way across Betty’s skin, thinking about how she wouldn’t mind waking up to that sound every day.

Thinking about how she’ll do everything she can to make sure she does.

 


End file.
